


Point of No Return

by Darkest_Day



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Age Difference, Angst, Anxiety, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Geographical Isolation, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is an adult, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkest_Day/pseuds/Darkest_Day
Summary: Tony Stark has been dead for a few years. He died saving the world and Peter Parker has struggled to cope. Just when he thinks he's going to resign himself to 'normal' life, he finds a sign.





	1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark has been dead for a few years now. The sting of loss is still surprising, anyone would have thought that those old wounds would have healed by now. They have, truly, it's not like he's a complete mess or anything and he certainly isn't actively aching about anything. It's still just a shock sometimes how such a small thing can catch him off-guard. He rounds the corner and sees a familiar shape scribbling notes and when the man – Bruce, not Tony – looks up and waves him over that little piece of him that still knows hope deflates and he's left feeling like someone's knocked his ribcage in. It's so brief and sudden, then it's over. It's hope he shouldn't even have. He sits down on the stool next to him as Bruce begins talking, going over his latest ideas. “ _Peter,_ ” comes a quiet voice in his ear. “ _You haven't slept for thirty-nine hours, you should get to bed._ ” He ignores her, nodding along to whatever he's going on about. He lets his gaze drift around the room, he's tried to keep it the same so when – not 'when', he's _dead_ – so he has something resembling familiarity. Bruce, while eager and excitable with his own set of damages that quiet him at times isn't nearly as eccentric as Tony was. He is organized clutter and great, really, it's just nice to have someone else around. He can't deny that there are similarities between his old mentor and this one but it isn't the same.

Peter himself is a mess. In a lot of ways if Karen's worried prodding is anything to go by. The lab doesn't have that sterilized clean and empty vibe anymore, he can't help but think that if Tony saw what it had become he would be rolling in his grave. Not that it was even _bad_ , it just looked lived in. It's hard to focus on anything and it's harder to know that things are changing and moving on without him. Tony's dead, he's gone, he saw it happen. He was there and he watched and he couldn't have done anything to stop it. Which might even be the worst part of it, knowing he couldn't have done anything differently to prevent it. At least if he missed his chance he could have worked _harder_ to make sure it never happened again. In the end, they saved the world and brought everything and everyone back to the way it was but they los— and he can taste the blood on his teeth again as he half-listens to everything his lab partner says. He just picks up on keywords, he can figure it out later. They work on paper fairly often, they don't use all the holo displays for much. Most of it was tuned to Tony's hands, anyway, though Peter finds controlling it rather effortless while Bruce struggles. He wouldn't be surprised if Tony wrote the code for that personally. Most of his work remains on display and accessible like it's a museum. That's all he's been reduced to now, a memory put on a shelf.

Everyone else has moved on and readjusted to life-minus-Tony just fine. It's been years so he has no resentment towards anyone for moving on and finding joy in their lives and in the peace the world seems to have found. Something about half of all life disappearing changes a whole lot. Moving on is what everyone should be doing, it's the natural order of things. All logic tells him he needs to do the same, move on with his life and stop wasting it here. The voice at the back of his head growls out warnings that it's foolish to ever think that his mentor, his idol, is going to walk through these doors one of these days. He mentioned it, once, offhandedly like it was a joke with his hands planted firmly on the table he was half-sitting on like he was actually relaxed enough to joke around. Bruce had looked at him so seriously and told him, firmly, no-nonsense, _he isn't coming back, Peter, you shouldn't be entertaining the idea. Do we need to get you in therapy again?_

None of this logic or reasoning could ease the pull that he's missing something. It's like knowing someone's name but it's on the tip of his tongue and just barely out of reach. It's the song stuck in his head but he can't remember how the song starts so he's stuck with three random lines rattling around in his skull. There's nothing he can do to satisfy that nagging urge.

When he gets back to his room, hours later, he eyes those application forms still on the desk. He said he would apply this year, he promised he would. Now weeks and weeks had passed and the deadline is in just a few days and the papers still wait there untouched. The pushes the thoughts away and lays down in bed so he can glare at the ceiling. Karen dims the lights for him, she's evolved somewhat over the years, she connects to the rest of the building but talks mostly in the little earpiece in his ear. He's grateful to have a companion that doesn't think he's insane for still holding on.

He doesn't sleep, he just gets out of bed somewhere around midnight thinking he'll get a coffee.

 _Be better_ Tony had told him once, which generally means keeping a regular sleep schedule and going to school and not drinking himself to sleep every night. Which, in all fairness, he hasn't done that third one. It's crossed his mind, of course, it just doesn't feel right to start pilfering Tony's alcohol and he's a couple months away from being able to legally buy it himself anyway. Numbly he goes through the motions of brewing another pot. He could make the entire coffee brewing process automated if he wanted to, for a few weeks it was but he likes this better. Working on it by hand is a good way to fill spare minutes in the day. Really, his main issue here, beyond the obvious, is sleeping. He knows it well enough, Karen politely reminds him when he goes a little too long. He doesn't like trying to rest, though, not when he wakes up tasting ash in his mouth with the acrid scent of copper and smoke and death crowding his brain. So when he does force himself to rest (and sleeping pills felt like a slippery slope into the kinds of things he's trying to keep himself from) he wakes up more tired than ever. It's easier to be awake. An orange sun and dust and collapsing into—

Footsteps alert him to Natasha's entrance. There's always someone here, mostly it's Bruce and a lot of the time it's her. The others come and go, he does a very good job at denying the fact that there's someone here at all times for the sole purpose to watch him, someone to take care of him, protect him, make sure that he's doing well. It's late and she looks tired, her hair long and bloody battlefield red swept over one shoulder. He doesn't say anything, just grabs a second mug as the coffee pot continues to steam. Maybe it's nightmares that keep her from resting, he's never asked. There's a lot he doesn't want to know. He does appreciate her company, she's silent and unjudgemental. 

They don't say much to each other, they just make their way to the couch and curl up on opposite ends of it. They both grab a controller and smash each other's faces in in-game as they finish their coffee. They both relax eventually, chat, she starts it by calling him a name and he scoffs and sits up so he can concentrate better. It's somewhere after four AM when she goes back to bed, he tells her a soft good-night and she tells him to get some sleep. Peter drags a hand through his hair, why couldn't Tony just waltz back in with a drink in his hand, announcing he's back, baby.

Whenever he sleeps he wakes up cold, like he's dead all over again. Somewhere around five, he had gone to bed and the sun was rising outside the tall windows. He concentrates on it for a long time as he wonders why it couldn't have been him instead. Tired, he slides out of bed and sits down at the desk, still half-dressed. With the light of the sunrise on his back he takes a pen to the first application and tries to make sense of the words on the page, he gets his name down before he gives up. May doesn't expect him to get this done anyway so why disappoint her? Why bother? He has all these ideas and the inspiration to keep working on them is suffering. For a long time he threw himself into it and kept working, he made some amazing things he's still fiercely proud of today but now he just can't anymore. He rides the coattails of his previous success and lies that he's just tired due to how many new projects he's started, he's just trying to figure out which one. Bruce probably pities him. He drops his head to his hands.

“ _Take a break, Peter,_ ” Karen says kindly. “ _Get some coffee and breakfast, then we work on it together,_ ” she's taken the first time he's willingly picked up a pen since he got them and kindly nudged him in the right direction. It's been years. He's been gone for years. Why can't he just grow up and move forward? But even if Tony did walk back into his life, what would he even do? Tony would be disappointed in him. Disappointed he isn't sleeping, he isn't working, he hasn't gone to college, disappointed with his life choices and how he's slipped this far down.

He gets dressed and steps out into the brisk morning air. He walks slow, Karen reads some headlines from the papers to him as he goes. Once he actually gets out of the compound he knows there's a cafe within a few blocks so he makes his way over there. “ _Why don't you eat here?_ ” Karen supplies, “ _a change of scenery may do you some good._ ” She's usually right. He orders and sits down near the window, looking at the television mounted on the wall. He turns away from it, that nagging feeling is back but he ignores it.

When he's back in the building he trudges to his room. He can do this, if for nothing else, for Tony. For his memory.

Weeks pass, he gets accepted into three of four schools. Now he just has to choose which one. Everyone was happy for him, he grinned along to their compliments and they even hosted a get together where they could all celebrate together. It was all a little too much, the first chance he got he stepped into his suit and disappeared into the nighttime streets. It was the first time he'd done this in a long time, it was refreshing to swing around again. Everyone was just so glad he was leaving to go to school so he could make friends his own age, so he could go and live again like any normal kid his age. But after everything that happened with Thanos? Everything he's done himself? He can't go back to a normal life anymore. He's most comfortable with people like him, people who did it too and people who were there _with_ him. He can scale walls, for fuck's sake, he isn't like any of them and if he leaves he's only going to feel out of place the same way he felt in high school. He doesn't want anything to do with regular life.

He sits on a rooftop overlooking the city, he doesn't want to do this. “ _Peter,_ ” Karen starts, nice and quiet. “ _They're looking for you, shall I tell them you stepped out?_ ”

Peter just sighs, at first, then, “yeah, tell them I went out for a bit. Don't wait up.”

When he does return he heads to the lesser used parts of the lab, the place where Tony left his suits behind on display like old trophies. He's thought, many many times, of stepping into one and imagining everything's just fine and that if Tony were still alive he would come out of nowhere and ask him what the hell he's doing. Dust has collected on the shiny metal of just about all of them, so he retreats far enough to grab a cloth and the cleaner and begins to work. The centre still glows, he trails his fingers over the faint warmth coming from it. “You're not coming back,” he murmurs to the empty costume. 

“You'd know what to do though, right?” He asks it, he doesn't try to keep the helplessness out of his voices as he flattens his palm over the chest. “C'mon, I need something here, anything.” But there's no answer, even Karen remains quiet. “Why can't you just answer me?” His voice is almost a whimper, no one else is around. He's alone. He's always so alone. “Please, Mr. Stark,” it's his last little effort to get a dead man to answer him. He ducks his head to the breastplate of the old armour and gives in to the years of childish false hope as it finally falters and crumbles under him. It feels like he's suffocating, choking on sobs, trying to cling to this last bit of innocence. 

Eventually, Peter sinks down to his knees. He has his forehead pressed against the cool metal of a thigh and he's shaking and exhausted and dehydrated. He fumbles with the phone in his pocket, hovering over the call button before deciding on a message. _It's time to put Iron Man away_ is all he writes, he ignores the rest of the messages that come through. Within an hour Bruce is coming down the stairs, Peter is tapping a pencil on the page in front of him. He's got it back together, he's looking at which school to go to. He had, briefly, wanted to give in to rage and destroy something, break his knuckles on unbreakable items but that isn't him. 

“I'm proud of you, kid,” Bruce says, awkwardly clapping him on the shoulder as if he isn't sure how to congratulate someone so young. Peter forces a smile as they begin to pack up what remains of Tony Stark. Even though he hates it, it is time to move on. Somehow it had been left up to him to decide what to do with all of these old memories, now it's finally on him to deal with it. All those last pieces of Tony are removed and placed into storage and once Bruce leaves, Peter leaves Spider-Man beside Iron Man.

It's time.

He chooses one, finally, sends off his acceptance and gets tuition paid for. He'll worry about everything else later, for now, he stays up binge drinking coffee and video games. He has a couple months before he goes away and a new section of his life begins. Even if it feels like the wrong choice he's steadily approaching the end of the line; he doesn't have any other options. Somehow between breaking down in front of the last on-display memory and putting his own piece of the past away, he found a little bit more strength to keep going. 

It's the next day when Karen alerts him to a new article in the paper, he's sitting at the island with a piece of toast on a plate, mostly untouched with a bite out of it. _Where is Stark Industries Now?_ The headline reads, Peter frowns. “Project it somewhere?” He asks, he's never actually asked that before and isn't sure if it's even something she can do. But the article floats into view as the rest of the house darkens. “Woah,” he murmurs, there's so much wasted tech around here. If only he wasn't leaving in a couple months. 

' _It's been a few years since the death of Tony Stark. Many have wondered, where has Stark Industries gone now that the man behind Iron Man is gone? Although Virginia “Pepper” Potts has done an excellent job ... Leaving behind no successor, ... It's clear there's been little new ... Virginia has reassured ... Even though ... Knowing ... It seems ..._ '

“Wait,” Peter mumbles, he reaches up to tap at the letters floating in front of him but his hand slides straight through. “Wait, uh, Karen, highlight the first letter of each sentence.” The letters turned red and expanded off the rest of the letters, his heart was hammering in his chest. I M A L I V E K I D was how it started, glaringly obvious. The rest of the letters were nonsense, nothing he could make sense of. “I-isolate everything after 'D',” he whispers, twelve characters. There had to be something in there. Anything. He just stares at them, blankly, trying to put together what they could be. Helpfully, Karen arranged them together. 

“Coordinates. They're coordinates. Fuck— coordinates.” He's sitting there, whispering to himself. Almost panicking, his head spinning, “convert to, uh, n-numbers?” The letters flicker into numbers. “Uh, punch them in..?”

A map appears, the coordinates lead to somewhere in Russia. “ _Peter, your heart rate is climbing, do you need anything?_ ” Karen asks, he shakes his head. When he stands on shaky legs the map disappears but the lights remain dimmed. He stumbles to the deck and pries open the door, unsteadily placing his hands on the railing so he can try to breathe again. It's like he's relearning how to. This can't be true, it just can't be. 

“He's alive?” He whispers, his voice choked.

“ _It appears that he could be, would you like to go?_ ”

"Y-yeah," his hands are shaking, is he dreaming? 

" _Calculating best route.. there will be a number of flights, a few trains, a bus, but you may need a car to get there. It's a very very long way, Peter."_ Her voice is quiet and soft. _"Would you like me to start booking for tomorrow?"_

"Yeah. Wait, no, in two weeks. Yeah, that should be enough time." Within moments his phone is vibrating, he pulls it out as a stream of confirmation code emails filter in. The flight, the train, rental car, everything. He's almost terrified, it's such a snap decision. He could be walking into a trap or an imagined desperate  _want_ that he can't explain. 

" _All done, Peter,_ " she says, if Peter didn't know any better he could swear it sounded like she was smiling. " _I'll arrange a car to take you to the airport,_ " 

"No, I'll get a cab." He might have problems, he can't really let anyone know what he's doing, can he? They'd stop him. He looks out over the grass and concrete below him, inhaling a long breath. Now he has two weeks to prepare, two weeks to learn enough Russian to get through. Two weeks to figure out a reason why he's leaving for who knows how long. It's a long time before he finally mumbles, "Karen, what.. what if I don't find him?"

"Find who?" Natasha asks, she's putting her hand on the glass door and stepping outside with him. He sucks in a breath, turning to look at her. "Woah, kid, you look.. pale and sweaty. You coming down with something?" 

"O-oh yeah, I might," he mumbles, Karen says nothing. He brushes past her on his way inside, heading to the coffee maker. She follows, he does his best to look casual, like he hadn't just arranged a couple thousand dollar trip to the middle of buttfuck nowhere chasing after half a chance that Tony Stark was still alive. She folds her arms over her chest, hip against the counter, as he fumbles with a mug. He can feel her eyes on him. 

"Find who?" She asks again, she waits until Peter prepared a cup before her question so he can't distract himself with it. He'd stalled as much as he could and doesn't have much more room to piss around the question. 

"Nothing, sorry, working on a paper." He lies, taking a sip. She just keeps looking at him, calm and steady. He gets through half the cup before he caves, sighing. "Don't tell anyone, okay? Karen, bring up the article. Then," he pauses, looking nervously at her. "Highlight the first letter of each sentence." She watches, quietly, as the words project between them. She steps through them, standing on his right so she can read it properly. He takes a nervous breath, "convert the letters to numbers," he continues. "Locate on a map." 

She doesn't say anything for a long minute, looking at the highlighted letters still overlayed over the satellite view. "You know this isn't a good idea, right?" She asks. He nods. "You know the chances of finding him out there are slim to none?" He nods, again, he knows too well. Then she steps in front of him, looking at him with all this intensity he was used to from her. "You're still going, aren't you?" He swallows, jaw clenched, then nods. "How long until you go?" 

"T-two weeks," he mumbles. 

"I can't let you do this," she says in a sigh, more to herself than to him. Then she looks at him again, thinking for a moment. "One question, what will you do if you find him?" 

The question surprises him. He expected her to ask what he'll do if he doesn't, or when he doesn't. "I'll stay for awhile, but," he couldn't stay forever even though the thought of leaving him if he finds him aches in such a strange way. "I'll come back." Will he? He has to. 

"When is your flight?" 

" _0735, I could send you the itinerary if you'd like_ ," Karen offers. 

"Yes, do that. I need to make sure he's safe." She replies. The phone in her pocket briefly lights up. His ears are ringing. "I'll drive you to the airport, kid, don't make me regret this." 

Then she turns to go, but before she can leave he calls "why are you letting me go?" 

She pauses, then looks over her shoulder at him. "Why do you think I've been around so much? They needed someone to make sure you're on the right track." 

"I haven't been, though." It stings to admit it. He's struggled just to keep going for  _years_. 

Then she smiles. "I know. You just needed to find your own way. You can do great things, Peter, you just need to get started." 

When she leaves he sinks down onto one of the stools, staring at the mug in his hands. Someone was always watching after him. Was it Tony himself? Was he making sure, even from the grave, that Peter was doing something with his life? "Hey, Karen?" He starts, slow, "can you make a fake itinerary for Aunt May? Europe, I think, couple hotels." 

" _Shall I include a return date?_ " 

"No, just leave it open ended. Print it off when it's done." 

In a few short minutes, the printer buzzes to life. He walks over to it and examines the fake confirmations. Reviews the trip, then memorizes it, then has a copy sent to Natasha so she can see waht he plans on telling everyone. It's afternoon by the time he gives her a call telling her he has some exciting news and can they go for lunch tomorrow? All in all, after her concerns about him leaving the country, she's okay with it. She's just glad he's been finally thinking about his future instead of just existing. She told him to take lots of pictures. He says he will. She's happy for him. The rest of the group assumes Peter's going on just a trip before he finally settles in. If anyone suspects anything else, no one says a thing. 

Natasha takes him to the airport the morning he leaves, she waits with him for as long as she can and offers him a smile when he heads through security. He has to silently thank all of Tony's work, none of the extra tech is even noticed by airport scanners. He sits with a coffee and a meal at a little rickety table and watches the people pass by, he can see his gate still waiting to board from here. He has no idea if Tony will be at the end of this journey but he just has to hope. He has nothing else but hope, now, and if he isn't there at the end of all of this? If he's come all this way for nothing? He will have to finally lay Tony to rest. Say goodbye for good and be done with this. Be _finally_ done. The thought of all of this wasted is humbling, the foolishness of youth driving him to chase down a whisper of hope. Ghosts of his past, a memory of a man he grew up idolizing.  

He's flown before, this much is nothing new. Flying alone is a little new, but nothing that gets to him, he's calm about flying itself. Karen stays, undetected, in his ear. Shes playing a bit of music, something calm. Not that he needs it for the flight itself, maybe if he were younger and more inexperienced he'd have been nervous about flying alone like this but he's been on a literal spaceship, an airplane is nothing. He's jittery and nervous in general. He's on his way to chase after what could very well be nothing. There could be nothing and no one there and that's where his nervousness comes from. To anyone else he just looks uncertain about being on a plane. Fantastic cover, really. 

When he lands he navigates to his connection, Karen helpfully guides him where he needs to be. It's a long, aching, process. He tries to sleep on the next flight but doesn't get a whole lot of it, he's still too anxious to sleep. 

Karen leads him out to the nearest bus route that will take him to the nearest train station and he's feeling a bit overwhelmed. He's in Russia and not even half-way to his end goal. Once outside in the fresh air he puts the glasses on. Real-time translations float over any sign he looks at. It's an awesome piece of tech, even if he did have a bit of trouble getting it connected at first. All of it controlled by Karen, all of it designed by Tony. He had modified it, slightly, swapped a few colours and hooked his specific AI to it of course. The last two weeks had been busy, he had to make sure he was prepared for anything that could happen. 

Once he arrives at the train station he orders himself a coffee and sits down at a table to wait. His Russian is definitely a little awkward, he stumbles over his words a little bit but gets his messages across nonetheless. Ordering coffee had consisted of telling Karen what he would like and having her translate, while in line he mumbled the words to practice and once he got to ordering he almost blurted out his order without thinking. He mostly reads off what the glasses tell him, though, complete with pronunciation. A coffee order was a little different and it's faster to hear it. He uses both, but it is easier to hear it than to try to read something on his glasses while he's trying to be polite to a real person trying to take his order. 

The train is overnight, he tries to sleep but he's anxious. He's been travelling for so long, day three begins with a complimentary breakfast and rich coffee. It's harder to relax as the train finally comes to its end destination. From there it's another bus ride, after that? It's all on him. 

The woman behind the counter doesn't speak a word of English when he goes to pick up the rental car. Karen has everything translated and this time has him simply repeat what she says out loud. She doesn't seem bothered if he messes anything up, he signs a few papers and she gives him the keys and someone takes him to the car. His nerves are wrecked, he thanks the man who led him out here and gets in, setting his bag on the passenger seat. With his hands on the steering wheel, he wonders, briefly, if he should even go through with this. He shakes his head, no. He has to finish this, he's come so far. Whatever is at the end of the road he will face head-on. If its Tony or if he was fooled into chasing stars won't matter, he faces it. 

He pulls out of the lot and drives down the road for a few minutes before pulling over in an empty lot, he keeps the glasses on his face. He hooks Karen up to the speakers of the old car so he doesn't have to rely on the earpiece and so she can play music and direct him as he needs. Then Peter drives in silence, uninterested in listening to anything when he's wound so tight even though he has that option. As they leave town, he asks, "what if he isn't there?"   

" _I don't know, Peter. Will you go home_?"

"I.. I don't think so."

" _Won't your family worry_?" He considers that for a moment, he supposed that the Avengers still left were, in a way, his family. If he doesn't return he could bet Natasha would be on his ass trying to find him. She has just as much information as he does and might have more access to help her track him down. 

"I will eventually. Just maybe not right away." He can still make a trip of it. See the world and all that, see what he can find out here. 

" _What will you do if he is there_?" He exhales, " _your heart rate is climbing, it does every time the possibility of finding Stark is mentioned_." 

"Let's just get there, we can worry about that later," which does nothing to quell the worries tightening around his throat. 

They stop in another town to refuel, it's really just a number of old industrial buildings and factories. It's a lovely area, really, grasses and fields and just that hint of ocean in the distance. He can barely enjoy it. When he returns to the car with another coffee Karen greets him in a way that sounds like a warning. 

" _There are approximately four hours until you arrive at the coordinates_." 

"Oh boy," he murmurs, starting the engine and pulling back out onto the road. 

" _Worried_?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't you be?"

" _I do not feel worry,_ " she muses. " _But I am programmed to help you, does that make it concern_?"

He smiles to himself, "I think so." When they're an hour out they lose the main road, so he pulls out his phone and brings up the map with the coordinates highlighted and sets it up on the dash. If he has to walk the last stretch he will, it doesn't matter. He's nearly exhausted but the roads are treacherous so it keeps him sharp. He drives in silence as he works on following the not-road he's driving on. 

" _You're almost there_ ," she says, he's almost shocked by the voice startling him out of his head. He can see the highlighted spot on the map just up ahead, he can't see too far from the car with the trees on either side of him. The road keeps winding, the nervousness is back full-force. He keeps worrying about the journey back to civilization if nothing is out here, keeps thinking how much time and money he's wasted. He doesn't even know if he has enough gas to get back.

It doesn't matter, he just needs to get here. He'll push the damn car back if he has to.

His heart is beating in his ears like he's been running as he turns the corner, he's _here_. There's a small cabin nestled against the trees in a small clearing, he can see the ocean behind it. "Fuck" he hisses, there's actually something out here. 

He parks out front, there's nothing outside that resembles Tony. A beaten up truck parked alongside the house and the yard more than a little overgrown. There shouldn't even be anything out here at all, is this hope or anxiety? Maybe, just maybe. He takes a long deep breath before getting out of the car, leaving his bag behind. He does stuff his phone in his pocket and disconnects Karen from the speakers before closing the door behind him. This is the moment, it's eerily quiet and still as he walks up to the front door and knocks hard enough for his knuckles to sting.

The door opens.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: 
> 
> Suicide attempt/themes.  
> Panic attacks/anxiety  
> PTSD  
> General depression

Tony Stark walks down a hallway he doesn't recognize. It's dark, there are no windows, the air is still and nothing feels quite correct. He walks through a dark doorway and steps out into the blinding orange and stumbles in the dirt. The light is bright enough to hurt his eyes when he looks around him, he knows what's coming. Thanos, or at least a shape vague enough to resemble Thanos, looms over him. He's dreaming, he knows he's dreaming because he never actually saw the snap but he keeps dreaming about it. The figure, the one who sometimes looks more like a reflection of himself and not the Mad Titan, curls his hand to snap his fingers, panic settles in his chest. He forcefully jerks himself awake as his fingers connect and lays frozen in bed breathing hard through his nose as he tries to come down. He's alive, everyone is alive. He wants to call Pepper, the urge hits him so forcefully it rattles his teeth. Just to hear her voice again, just once, it would be enough. 

Thinking about her takes the edge off, he's able to think a little clearer after picturing her and eventually unclenches his jaw, it aches. It's not that he wants to be with her again, no, he knows that ship has sailed. She's always been a comfort, stability. When he thinks about her he remembers that anchoring presence that kept him grounded. She's still on his mind when he tries to settle in again, it's been barely two hours since he climbed into bed to try to sleep. He's still shaken and knows it won't go away any time soon, it never does.

Another hour later he gives up on sleep and gets up. He brews another pot of coffee and rests his hip against the counter, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. It's not even finished brewing when he fills a cup and takes a sip. It's too hot and too bitter but he replaces the pot and wanders to the couch. It's a short walk, it doesn't take a lot to walk across this place, it's smaller than anywhere he's ever lived. He flips on the television in front of him and scans the channels. The connection is fuzzy, there's only so much he can do out here. He's remote enough that regular cellphone connections don't work. His networks were, at least, better. They were strong enough to get somewhat of a connection. He wasn't going to be all the way out here with nothing and at least they weren't total monsters so they agreed to let him get connected. He needed to have some way to see to the world out there, even if would only ever be watching from a distance. Sometimes Pepper was in the news smiling like she's actually truly happy. Happier than he'd ever seen her, happier than she could ever be with him. He knows this, it's the only reason it doesn't hurt to think of her.

There's a laptop on the coffee table. He exhales and leans in, tapping one of the keys to light the screen. Then he sits back again, looking at the security footage. Tony never had a lot of cameras, he didn't feel much of a need to have full surveillance and wasn't so narcissistic to want to watch himself on camera all the time. He had two in the lab, of course, sometimes he needed to see where he went wrong. A couple in the parking garage. One that guarded the main entrance to the house and another at the gates.

There's no audio, he knows it's a security measure he installed to keep some secrets if anyone ever got in. Which also kept him out. Some days he typed in his authorization codes and paced the room trying to convince himself that he wasn't going to hit 'enter'. They would know if he did and the people that brought him here might actually kill him if he had any contact with the outside world. Sometimes he doesn't care and tells himself he will let the world know he lived and will invite whatever comes.

No matter how hard he tries to get the shape of fingers snapping out of his head it keeps coming back. He keeps seeing it, keeps halting the playback before it can finish. Shaking his head as if it could shake off what it feels like to be helpless to his own mind. He can't. He _can't_. It repeats over and over until he stumbles to his feet and grabs the bottle off the counter and drinks directly from it. He settles back on the couch, all he can see on the computer screen is Peter Parker sitting at one of the tables. He's been worried about the kid for a long time, now, even when it's hard to string words together when he has that constant buzz at the base of his skull. He can recognize those habits just from what he can see, he sees his own decline reflected in the boy. Up all night, sometimes working and sometimes just existing. He knows the feeling. He just can't do anything to help him. 

By day eight of the restless anxious alcohol-fueled binge, he is ready to do something drastic. He aches in every possible way, he can't shake the image from his head and it won't let him relax. So he does something stupid. If he fucks up, if he gets caught reaching to the outside world, they'd probably come here and end him. And fuck, he thinks he's ready. He's been here too long, he's been alone too long. He makes a few dummy accounts here and there and writes an article. It's inane and there isn't much to it, it doesn't matter what it says. It drives away the scene that keeps playing in his head as he writes. He codes a message in there, nice and simple, and sends it off alongside 'donations'. Then he waits.

If they're really watching him that closely they will come for him and all of this will be over.

But they never do.

It gives him a passion he hasn't had in years, it helps chase away the idea of suicide and keeps him from the bottom of a bottle every night. Then he begins to daydream that someone found a message, he always leaves coordinates. What if someone did their way out here? Pepper fills his mind, first, but every daydream leaves a sour taste in his mouth. She is genuinely happy now and if she found out he survived it wouldn't end well for her. He cares about her way too much to hurt her any more than he already has. One by one he daydreams about his friends coming to find him. What would they do? How would they react? Would they be happy or would they be disgusted? He plays through imaginary conversations over and over. What if Steve knocked on his door? Would he be sad to see what's become of him or would he just be glad to see him? Would he care enough to come all this way? He plays conversation after conversation in his head, asking himself tough questions and answering them. Just in case anyone cared enough to head all the way out here. 

The winter comes and he is still alone. No one sees any of his messages so he gives up. No one will knock on his door, no one will come out here and save him. He sinks back into the pattern of drinking himself to sleep. Tony Stark's go-to coping mechanism when everything gets to be too much, downing too much all at once and letting it knock him out. He watches those cameras and sees Peter there more and more, he watches the boy - no, he would have just turned 19 by now - waste his life where Tony wasted so much of his. There's no question, he is watching Peter decline into a mini Stark. He spends so much time watching him that soon enough his dreams consist of Peter in his arms. He's done so well all this time not thinking about Peter's death on Titan and now here he is dreaming about the moment.

Then his dream warps, Tony sees his own face where Thanos should be, Peter is firm in his arms and he watches himself snap his fingers. He can't wake up in time, it always happens fast but the clarity of his own face in the senseless blob of a man shocked him too much to react. His blood runs ice cold and the buzzing in his brain gets so loud he can't think. Peter begins to disappear into dust in his arms and he wakes clutchingn at empty air and gasping for breath. He can't breathe, he can't think, he stumbles from the bed and hits the ground hard and his knees feel like they've splintered. He slides his hand under the mattress for the pistol, put it there in the beginning just in case one of them did come for him and he did still have the will to  _live_ , and knocks it open. Bullets clatter on the floor as he fumbles for one, he was just checking if it was loaded. In his panic he couldn't remember. He loads one into the chamber and closes it. On his knees, on the floor, he presses the gun to the side of his head. It needs to _stop_ , he can't do this, he can't survive like this. He'd rather be dead than keep living like this. Tony pulls the trigger and nothing happens. He pulls it three more times but nothing happens. 

So he throws it across the room. It breaks the mirror it smashes against as he drops his head into his arms, listening to the tinkling of broken glass on the floor. He's alone and frantic. He's always going to be alone. Maybe he helped everyone survive but he is no less haunted by what he couldn't do. That feeling of being alone, lost in space, doesn't ever go away. Was it worse out there or here? There isn't an answer. The snap is one dark part of his brain he can't think about without it sending him into a panic. It's eating away at him, it's one thing to know all the deaths he caused before that asshole ever got here, it's another to know that he can't even think about these things without his brain obsessing for weeks. He's so bone tired, he doesn't know why the gun didn't fire but doesn't have the energy to try again. Making a conscious decision is a whole lot different than in a flurry of desperation. 

Eventually, he has to lift his head, he makes his way to the living room and lays on the couch instead of the floor. One hand lights up the computer on the table and he watches the empty lab. The empty front door. People walking by the gate. Nothing noteworthy. Nobody looking for him, nobody out there thinks Tony Stark is alive. It's how it should be, it's what he agreed to, he just hadn't thought about the weight the years would weigh. 

He bought an old truck around when he first got here in a spike of rebellion, thinking he could fuck off somewhere and they couldn't stop him but he hadn't used it since. When he goes outside the damn thing still starts so he leaves it running and goes back inside to grab a few things he might need. His chest feels constricted, it hasn't loosened since he tried, he pulls out from beside the house and begins driving into town. He's almost out of liquor and the coffee they keep getting him tastes like dirt. He's barely down the not-road when his phone rings. He never disabled the tracker, if he had they'd probably pitch a fit. That and he agreed to it. He didn't have a choice, there's a whole lot of things he has no power over anymore. He puts the phone on speakerphone when he answers, the kid talking to him sounds too young to be doing this. 

" _Where are you going_?" He asks. Tony doesn't even have the heart to crack a joke.

"To town, not my fault you keep sending me garbage." 

" _You're under strict orders not to leave, you need to turn around now_." It's hard to sound threatening when he sounds like a teenager.

"I'll go back, but I'm going to town first. If you don't like it, you know where to find me. Come get me." Then he hangs up. If they want to come and take him out they can go ahead. He welcomes it now.

The old stereo doesn't work so he plays music from his phone, it's nice to get out and see something different for once, as he drives he can breathe a little easier. It's dark but he thinks it takes hours to get to town so he isn't worried about when he gets there. It's a pleasant drive, even if it's a bit long. As he is about to hit the main road he pulls over and takes a look at himself. He's barely recognizable from the man he used to be with his overgrown beard and much thinner than he has ever been. He still grabs the hat on the seat next to him and puts it on.

The liquor store near the edge of town is open, he pulls up and walks in. It's one of those small ones, probably don't see a lot of newcomers, it smells welcoming and musty. It's a small town, probably close-knit. He gathers a number of bottles in his arms and carries them awkwardly to the counter. The girl behind it lazily starts ringing him in. It's early, she looks tired. "<Not done yet>," he says, his Russian is a little shaky but she nods so he assumes she understood. He grabs more, he ends up bringing back three more armfuls and she begins eyeing him suspiciously.

"<How are you paying?>" She asks, he hands her a card. She looks at it for a moment, then asks for ID. The name on the card he hands her matches the name on the one already in her hands. She examines them, then shrugs. He arranged that one a long time before he was Iron Man, a fake name with a fake account with a fake address on top of a fake ID just in case he was ever in trouble. Just in case the worst happened and he needed to lay low for an indefinite amount of time. This is the scenario he planned for, even if it didn't go exactly how he thought it would. 

It's all piled into paper bags and he carts them out to the truck, armful by armful. He yearns for a real meal, though, so he searches for somewhere he can eat that's open this early. No one else calls him and bitterly he isn't surprised they don't care either.

There's a little restaurant he drives to once all the alcohol is hidden under the seat. He parks and heads in, everything is orange and it smells like cheap coffee and sizzling eggs. He sits down and peers at the menu, while he can speak the language well enough reading it is another story. He uses his phone to translate then orders way too much food than he needs. In his defence, he eats most of it. He gets a milkshake too, its probably one of the best things he's ever had and asks if he can have another one to go, they don't have any takeout cups so he says he'll buy the glass they put it in. After quick conversations with the manager they agree. He tips real well and leaves almost close to happy. It's a new feeling. The second milkshake is just as good as the first one. 

There's a grocery store nearby he pops into as well, his first stop after grabbing a cart is to get the most expensive coffee they have. Then a lot more too. He probably looks a little bit deranged piling coffee into his cart as if he needs it to survive. It probably looked worse carting four armfuls of booze up to the checkout, though, he doesn't care what anyone thinks of him. He gets a few more things, stuff he hasn't had in ages and snacks and treats. It's amazing how much variety they have for such a small place. He piles his cart way too full and takes it up to cash out. She's cute, a little young, he thinks about chatting her up but doesn't have it in him.

There isn't much else he needs but he's here and doesn't think he's going to be back any time soon. Driving by a strip mall an electronics store right catches his eye. Fuck it. He pulls in and heads into the store, there's so much he could upgrade. It's getting late enough to eat again by the time he's done spending entirely too much money, the truck is loaded with purchases and he feels a whole lot different than he had with a gun pressed to the side of his head sometime after midnight. He hasn't even thought about the dream, he's been busy.

The last stop is gas and gives in to impulse buys at the register happily. His milkshake is finished so he buys himself the biggest blended iced coffee they've got. It's only after he's left town that he gets another phone call. With speakerphone on again, he answers.

" _Feeling better, Stark_?" He knows the voice this time.

"Will I did try to kill myself this morning so you tell me," it's entirely the truth but he says it like it's a joke. Like he hadn't tried.

" _Look, I just wanted to apologize about this morning. The one who called you was out of line. While we don't want to make this a habit, we do understand that your arrangement may be.. difficult_."

"What a shocker. Complete and total isolation isn't difficult, I'm coping just fine."

" _Cut the sarcasm, do we need to send someone out there_?" 'To watch you' was left unsaid. 

"Don't need a babysitter." He says, "but if you do send one, at least 5'5", redhead, c cup, at least-"

" _No. No, we are not doing any of that_."

"Good, good, but hey I've gotta concentrate on the road and I'm not sure if this car has headlights so I'm ending the call."

He hangs up. No one calls him back. A day out there interacting with people has left him vulnerable, weak, but happy. He doesn't listen to music on the way back, he just gets 'home' and starts getting everything inside. It's undeniably nice to have his own groceries in here and not the ones sent to him once a month. He gets coffee inside first and tears open a package so he can start brewing a new pot. By the time he's put everything away, minus the electronics, it's finished brewing and the house smells good.

The projects keep him busy. He can amplify the connections, the television is no longer fuzzy and the cameras are clear. Loading times cut in half, he installs speakers throughout the home and begins designing another AI. He feels a little bit like himself again. The last thing he does is gather the pieces of broken mirror from the floor to remind himself not to go that far again. He fills his free time with the cameras, learns bit by bit how to read lips. It's mostly Peter, who still struggles. Who's still there not making anything of himself. He speaks fairly often to someone, girlfriend maybe? The name Karen or Ellen is mentioned a lot. He just never sees her. Eventually, he does put the pieces together, he's just speaking to an AI. He must have her to the earpiece he can just barely make out in his ear. 

Tony just wishes he could do something to help him get his life together. It isn't so much an obsession to see how the kid is doing, just something to pass the time hoping that he can do something spectacular with his life. He knows Peter could be amazing, he just won't be if he wastes away like this. 

There's something close to contentment the next time he sees Pepper in the news. She's glowing, he feels that aching fondness fill him. She's announced her engagement and he couldn't be happier for her. Their relationship had been flawed from the start, he loved her then and has no doubt he always will and he knows she loved him too and expects she will always have something positive for him. He loves her enough to know how much better off she is without him. He would only ever bring her down, he would only hurt her, he wouldn't ever mean to but it was going to happen. He knew himself too well, he fought for her, always, because he was selfish. He saw only what he wanted, not what she needed. Sure, they would have good times, in the end, he would just hurt her. He would always hurt her. He would never be the one to make her honestly and truly happy. She needed someone that was capable of an honest conversation, she needed someone who wasn't going to put himself first. It looked like she's found it now. 

It is bittersweet, in a way. As happy as he is, as actually genuinely happy as it feels for her, it still does ache that she isn't with him. She's done so well he will never try to take that away from her. 

It takes a few months for the dreams to start again. They take away his ability to sleep and they ruin the ability to concentrate. Something deeply fucked up within dreams he wakes up and Pepper is here at her side and she looks at him like she's fundamentally unhappy despite her smile and that breaks him pretty good. Not even the way she looked at him, it was her eyes. Her eyes had that faraway look he's seen in survivors of horrible things. At least it isn't something he has to chase out of his mind when the anxiousness settles in, he pictures the face of a broken woman waking up next to a partner who doesn't make her happy to keep it at bay. He hates how her disapproval keeps him grounded way more than her happiness did. 

One night through the cameras he sees a huge group of people. They're arriving in groups and they look like they're celebrating something. They all look so happy, all but Peter who smiles in a way that doesn't reach his eyes. He's 20 now, he's an adult. He's done something, they're congratulating him. It takes him a bit of watching to figure out why - he's going away. School, finally. It's hard to think beyond the lump in his throat. He's been watching Peter for a year, silently begging he would do this. If he goes he isn't going to have anyone, the compound will be empty. No one to watch, no one to silently encourage. It's ironic that the one thing he's been wanting the kid to do is the thing that cuts him down the worst. He always still had the cameras and the people on the other side of the world he could live through. He still had  _Peter_. As much as he wanted him to do this he can't help the feeling that his story is coming to a close. The place will be deserted and sold off. They'll take down his things, dismantle the cameras, remove every last trace of Tony Stark that still remains. He can't bear to watch the last pieces of himself get uprooted and discarded. 

It doesn't take long before he catches Peter and Bruce wheeling the Iron Man suits away, one by one. He chews on his tongue until he tastes blood and his teeth hurt. Peter looks so determined as they move them, he's cracking as he watches. He can't see everything but it's undeniable that they're laying Iron Man to rest. With no small amounts of horror, he watches Peter return once everyone else is gone and leave Spider-Man behind, too. He feels like he's losing it. He's really leaving. He's desperate to keep this last connection, he's desperate to hold on and he knows how fucking selfish this is but he has to try. One last time. One final message, just for Peter. He writes the article and sends it off for publishing and hopes to everything he's got left that he finds it. If he doesn't find it then he starts to think that it's _finally_ time. He can  _go_ knowing that Peter Parker is making something for himself, he'll be just fine. It's not like Tony can help anyway, he imagines they'll find his body and make jokes that they're surprised he held on this long. One less problem for everyone to deal with. There's a cliff not too far away, he knows it overlooks the ocean, it would be easy to simply walk off of it and vanish into the sea. He fantisizes about it. It keeps him sane. 

But there's no indication that Peter's seen his message from his limited view. Instead, he watches the boy tinker with a pair of glasses between playing with his phone. He's too tired to consider what he might be doing with it. He's preparing to _go_ , he's getting ready to disappear from Tony's life. It hurts more than it has any right to. The moment Peter leaves with Natasha with a bag on his back Tony shuts down the computer. He isn't coming back there, at least not any time soon, he's finally gone and moved on. And that's good, it's everything he wanted but it's all he had left. He takes to the road again, half drunk, for another supply run to the town. No one calls him.

He knows it isn't unnoticed, especially when he hears a knock at the door a couple days later. He exhales as he scrubs a hand over his face. He's not drunk enough to deal with this, he's painfully sober and hasn't eaten in days and hasn't slept for longer. He looks like a mess and he wonders why someone feels the need to knock on a dead man's door. Maybe they found that message and they're here to end it. 

Tony takes his sweet ass time getting to the door. When he opens it his blood runs cold. Then Peter Parker is honestly actually throwing himself into his arms and he's saved from betraying the way his throat feels like it's closing up by not having to actually look at him. Someone's here. Someone came all this way to find him. He got the message. He closes his eyes and grips the boy way too hard but Peter holds him tightly enough to possibly bruise his ribs but he doesn't care. He's here. He's actually here. He is definitely in shock as he stares at the rental car just outside, Peter holding onto him as if his life depended on it. Tony cups the back of his head, his cheek against his temple, he has to be dreaming. It is entirely possible that he's collapsed and he's dreaming and the Light will take him now. But he's Tony Stark, it will be the Dark that will lead him away. "Guess we are there, then" he tries to joke with an armful of Peter who is holding him so tight. Last time he has Peter in his arms he was turning to ash under him and--

That's when it hurts.

Peter is almost taller than him, it's his first realization when he can start to think again. He's planned for this, hasn't he? He had so many false conversations that never actually accounted for the appearance of another person. He sees one person a month when the arranged grocery delivery gets here, they do not speak he simply hands over a list of his requests and that's it. He hasn't had someone here to talk to in years, let alone someone in his arms. He's holding Peter just as tightly as he's being held, concentrating pretty hard on keeping his composure. "Why?" Is the muffled question that comes from his shoulder. He threads his fingers through his hair. 

"Why didn't you come back?" Peter asks, helplessly, suddenly they're back on a rooftop again and Tony is telling him to be better and the boy just wanted his approval. Peter steps out of his arms, wiping his cheeks, Tony is still in shock. 

"Why haven't you gone to school? How many times did I tell you your education is important?" Tony replies, he's surprising even himself by how calm he sounds, steering them inside and towards the kitchen and making them coffee to busy his hands. 

"Yo-you've been watching me..?"

"Not just you, all of you,"

"Then why..-"

"Didn't I come back? You didn't need me," the answers are rehearsed from soundless daydreams of a lonely man. Well articulated, he knows what Peter was going to say and how to answer each one. He has spent an unhealthy amount of time having these conversations in his head. Unfortunately none of them account for someone young and stubborn asking the questions. 

"Bullshit" Peter hisses. "Don't fucking lie to me, Tony,"

"Woah, kid, hang on," he's pulling his hands up, trying to calm the rise in Peter's voice. The sudden anger is surprising and it's the last thing he wants, not when someone's here for the first time since he got here. Suddenly he is petrified that Peter will just turn around and leave. 

"No, I'm not a kid. You need to be honest with me." 

So Tony sighs as he turns to the coffeemaker, it isn't ready yet but he grabs the handle anyway and pours two cups. "What do you like, ki-" and stops himself before he can finish calling him a kid again. Peter hasn't been too far away this whole time but walks over to him, gets a little too much sugar and a little bit of milk. Tony puts nothing in his, he takes the cup and focuses on him. He ignores the urge to touch him to help convince himself he's real. 

"Talk to me," Peter mumbles. Tony takes one look at his expression, determined and soft, then exhales and dribbles somewhere around a shot of whiskey into the drink.

Tony takes his sweet ass time, Peter gives it to him. Let's him chew on his words. Let's him figure out what he wants to say. There's the truth, of course, a truth he isn't sure if he's supposed to share or not. "I couldn't come back," he settles on, finally. It doesn't matter anyway if he tells the truth or not, it's outlandish enough to be believable and if it does get out? Then this life is over. He's okay with that. 

"You could've," Peter tries.

"Then it would look a lot like some publicity stunt for money. You think that would go over well?" He spreads his hands, mimicking a newspaper "' _Tony Stark alive after sacrificing his life to save the world turns out to be alive and well, let's have a parade of puppies and kittens_ '," he can't help the bitterness in his voice. "I gave my life out there, willingly I might add, to make sure everyone else was going to live to see another day. I really don't get to 'come back'."

"What about us?" Peter asks, he looks more than a little distraught as he stands there. Puppy dog eyes, that's what this is. Trying to appeal to his _heart_  of all things. He's too jaded and bitter and sad to have much of a heart left. He's too broken. Why is he so guarded, anyway? What does it matter if he's honest?

"Fine, fine, okay." He gripes, his head already hurts. "Just, tell me one thing. Just one thing, okay? What has happened since I died? Ultron came back? More killer space aliens? Thanos's return? Did you ever think that maybe, just _maybe_ , there's a reason for that?" There's a faint tremor in his limbs so he has to keep them busy while he talks, they're standing close together. "Because the thing is, the thing I really should have known from the beginning - and let's just say foresight has never been my strong suit - _I_ started all this. I made Iron Man. I attracted all these awful things to this world. All those deaths? That's on me, if I hadn't run away with Iron Man then I wouldn't have to _live_  with hundreds of innocent lives on _my_  shoulders." The anger is hot, Peter is too taken aback by his outburst to protest. "I may as well have killed them myself, my big fat head got out of control and people died. So, if I'm dead then we can consider that my de-escalation policy."

"T-To-"

"Don't. Just. Don't, kid. Don't try to tell me I am somehow not to blame for this. I've had more than enough time to think," this is the point where he abandons the coffee hed just made in favour of grabbing a bottle and pouring himself a fresh glass. He downs it in one go and figures he can nurse the second one. "Had a lot of time. On Titan. Space. Here. Even my fucked up injury dreams thought about it while I was recovering." 

"You're the only reason we won. Thanos was gonna do it anyway." Peter's mumbling now, his earlier aggression replaced with this passive quiet.

"Maybe, maybe not. Maybe we would have assembled then, maybe it would have been better than how it turned out," he downs the second glass. Pours another. Maybe he didn't think this through, didn't think about what would happen if anyone did find the messages. Peter did, Peter cared enough to try and Tony is being an ass and getting mad at him. He's fighting a battle he's already lost in his own head as he insists that he'd have moved stars for the young man in front of him. And hey, Peter isn't the first but he'll probably be the last. Pepper, of course, he'd have done anything for her but grow up and be a decent person to her. His friends, the Avengers, the people who both had his back and turned against him again and again, at least they never did it behind his back. His ego always got in the way of any real human connection. He never lost them, not really, not even when he took a shield to the chest. He still remembers the pain of it all, knowing that they probably could have killed each other a couple times over if they'd both given it their all. Maybe it had been easier to pick a fight than it was to say he was sorry. That was the moment the number of people he'd have bent the rules of time and space for dwindled down into nothing. That's why he kept such a close watch on Peter, he had to make sure that he was safe and wasn't getting himself killed. He's just so young, too young to deal with Tony's problems and bullshit. He doesn't really know exactly why, protectiveness, maybe, seeing pieces of himself in him and wanting so desperately for him not to take the same roads Tony did. He's prepared for arguments. He's developed counter-arguments to every single one that always leads back to 'Tony's Fault'. Peter doesn't argue, though, he stands there conflicted. So he knows, then, the hand he played in starting this. The next question catches him off guard.

"Did you fake your death?"

Instinctively he brings a hand to his face and the scars that mark it. "No," he mumbles, "I didn't plan it, it just happened. Found myself alive in some CIA bunker sans an arm and I made a deal. Let the world think I'm dead, they move me to a remote location and send me supplies once a month so I don't die out here."

He can be honest, it doesn't matter and he doesn't care enough to stay alive anymore. Somehow Peter compels him to be honest and he wasn't prepared for this question anyway. Stupid, really, he should have. He had run these conversations in his head too many times, he should have thought that maybe someone would ask this one but he's always kind of assumed that no one else can see how close he is to the edge. 

"Wait, an arm?" At least the confession had halted any further questions of how or why. He had told himself a hundred times ( _142 times_ ) not to weaponize it, he still did. He holds his hand out, the left, the arm splits and opens with a little glow in the center of what was his palm. 

"Pretty cool, huh?" He tries to grin like he's trying to impress the boy with his technical mastery in a new arm that looks the same as his old one, wrinkles and callouses included.

"Y-yeah" Peter mumbles, still looking alarmed. He closes his arm and crosses it over his chest. "Tony-" he starts, he uncrosses long enough to wave his hand to silence him. He shouldn't miss the polite and eager way he used to say 'Mr. Stark' but he does. They're in a different place now.

"If anyone knew you were here they'd probably kill me, if I came back the public would probably assume it was all me and some publicity stunt for money." He doesn't intend for it to sound so wounded but it does. He knows, God he knows, that he can't ever return. He knows how much of this was all his fault. "So I can't go back, alright? Don't even ask."

"Can I stay?" Peter asks, and suddenly he's that fifteen-year-old kid on the rooftop and Tony is deciding his future.

"What? No, no you need to go to college and make something of yourself. You can't waste your potential out here." He can't waste his life out here the way Tony is wasting his. 

"For a little while, then," Peter begs, "school doesn't start for a few weeks, let me stay until then. Please," he's stepped closer, he's standing within reach. Tony exhales, downs the third drink, then nods.

Peter hugs him again, long strong arms wrapping around him as he murmurs 'thank you's. It would be good for him to spend some time with someone, he's been alone for a long time. There's a whole lot of comfort in the touch, it's addicting. He slides his arms around the kid (he has to stop calling him that) and holds, eyes closing, he has a real worry he won't want to let him leave. He doesn't know if he can go back to the quiet. When he lets go, Peter grabs a second glass and the bottle. "Wait, you're too-"

"I'm twenty, Mr. Stark."

He numbly sets his glass next to Peter's, accepting the not-new information. "I'll sip it," he reassures, he's finished three already he just needs something to soothe his frayed edges. He can already feel the previous drinks in his tongue, pleasantly fuzzing the thoughts in his head just a little bit. Peter will probably feel it quite a bit more than he does. Peter hands him his glass again and he nods, then tries to take a small sip without draining the whole thing in one go. Peter takes a small sip. 

"And you drink this straight?" He winces, swirling the liquid in the cup. Boldly, Tony walks up to him and clasps his shoulder to lead him out of the kitchen, then sliding his hand between his shoulder blades when they start walking. 

"Let me show you around," the cabin itself is small, the basement is where everything actually happens whenever Tony has enough strength to actually do something. The tour is brief, a quick rundown of the lounge and waving at the doors that make up the restroom and the bedroom. He tells Peter he doesn't sleep a lot, he can take the bed if he wants. There a door at the end of the hall he leads him to, he keeps his hand on him as he reaches around him to open the door. 

They're met with a narrow hallway that leads to a staircase to the basement. Smooth concrete floors, an array of lights that aren't on, a little dusty. He slides his hand along the dimmer to let the lights fade in. He never did finish making an AI, maybe he can work on it now. As Peter takes in his workshop, not nearly as impressive as the one he left behind but still serving its purpose, he walks to the table and begins to clear pages away. He hasn't touched these in months. 

"Wow, Mr. Stark," Peter says, taking another sip and making a displeased noise he probably isn't aware he's making. It's endearing.

"You can call me Tony," he offers, Peter's ears go a little pink. He catches it out of the corner of his eye. He has an idea and he thinks it might just help. Or is it just selfish? Is he just taking what he wants from him with no care as to what is best for him? Sending him that message had been a selfish act, was this idea to create a couple devices they can use to keep in touch just as selfish? How much did Peter need this, if at all? No, he can't be foolish. Peter may have come this way but it doesn't mean that he needs anything from him. At least he could more easily help guide him, encourage him to make better choices than he has been. He could be that voice in his ear, like a conscience, helping him choose right from wrong. That is, anyway, if a conscience can be an alcoholic with terrible coping mechanisms. Throw in suicidal, insomnia, and chronic manic depression and- maybe it isn't the best idea. He just knows damn well he does need some kind of connection to someone or he won't make it. He needs to be honest with himself. 

It'll give them something to work on even though they only have a few short weeks. He wants to make the best of having someone around. He's been so desperate for some human connection, he keeps having to resist the urge to keep touching him. He's always been handsy, he just doesn't want to scare him away by doing too much, by pulling him too close. If he let his guard down he'd be closer so he can bask in how it feels to not be  _alone_. 

"Hey, Tony," Peter starts, speaking slowly as if he's getting used to using his name. He's looking around like all of Tony's secrets and broken pieces are on display in pretty little glass cabinets. As if Tony had walked through his home showing him each one and helpfully pointing out when each one made itself known. At this point, Peter had to have known he wasn't okay. He put on a brave face right now, he smiled and acted like everything was fine. He's sure he's transparent, his smile fools nobody, his dead eyes rarely give emotion beyond that aching sadness. "Did you.." Peter starts, still slow. "Want to die?"

If he were an honest man he would have told him the truth. It would be soft and quiet, it would change things. "You mean ever? Because c'mon, everyone has thoughts like that-"

"No. I meant, y'know, during the fight. Before it. On Titan." he's looking straight at him and it's hard to piece together the words. His voice drops to a whisper when he asks "or now."

Yes, he did, of course he did. He's reasonably sure he wasn't suicidal back then but he knows damn well that the thoughts were there. Let Thanos win, let the fight consume him, let it take him, it's been a lifelong thought process. He's always found a way to fight the urge, he's always found a way to keep going until recently when it's suddenly become a very real option. He doesn't want Peter to know this part of him, he doesn't want him to think _less_  of him, he doesn't want to admit just how ruined he was. Peter doesn't need to see how broken he is now and always had been. "I'd give my life to stop him," he settles on. "It's a price I would be glad to pay."

It's a noble answer. Peter isn't buying it. "That's not what I asked."

Tony just looks at him, helpless. "Why do you want to know? Does it really matter? Those were dark times, I'm sure a lot of people had a lot of dark thoughts."

Why is he even letting him pry so deep into old wounds? He could just tell him he isn't talking about it. It doesn't matter how he felt out there with ashes of Peter still on his hands, the sky under some ruined sun. It was a one-way ticket back then, he had only entertained the idea that they could get back to earth because Peter was there. Peter was innocent. Peter never deserved any of that. Peter deserves better than here. 

"Tony, I.." but he stops, turning away. Tony supposes the answer was between them, he just didn't want to see it. Tony just sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

Without thinking, he holds out one arm. "C'mere," he mumbles. Peter walks up to him and Tony wraps his arm around him, tugging him close. The last time, no not the last, he needs to stop thinking about it. He can't stop, though, he still feels Peter in his arms clinging to life, begging him to do _something_. Anything. The drink gets set down on the table as he puts his other arm around him too, holding him tight all over again. Peter sinks into him, he isn't desperate to live this time, he just feels tired. All of this, even though it was years ago, had taken its toll. Maybe neither of them had really dealt with it. Fuck knows Tony hadn't. He drank until he stopped thinking, that's how he 'dealt' with it. 

"God, kid, you must be exhausted. It had to have taken you days to get here." Maybe it was easier to sleep than to stay in the mindset they were in. "Let's get you to bed," he keeps an arm around him as he leads him to the stairs, then just had a hand on his back as they walk up. He leads him to the bedroom and removes his belt and socks, Peter doesn't bother. The younger man lays down in the centre of the mattress as Tony lays down next to him. It's strangely natural the way they come together, Peter settling his head on his chest, his arm looped loosely around him.

When he wakes up, hours later, Peter is tucked under his chin and he's half on his side facing him. Peter's on his side, bony knees beside Tony's thigh. There's a small gap between them where Peter's arms are folded together. He takes the quiet moment to enjoy what seemed like a dreamless sleep, a little bit of real rest. It's hard to believe he's actually here, he isn't alone. He knows he's going to struggle with it, he's going to wake up in a panic and reach for him so he can tell himself he's there. He might actually lose it if the youth ever got up for a drink of water in the night. 

Unwilling to keep thinking, he carefully untraps his arm from under him and slides away. He goes to the kitchens, over these years with no easy method of take-out he's got decent at cooking. Mostly he doesn't care enough to do so, frozen meals were excellent for a man with little desire to take care of himself. That wasn't going to work for Peter. He's halfway way through cooking breakfast when Peter wanders out, he looks borderline confused by the surroundings. Tony just.

Smiles at him.

He smiles at him like everything is fine and perfect and he isn't wasting away out here. The question still burns at the back of his head, he's sure that Peter will ask again. It might not be soon but he will ask. He still won't have an easy answer. They eat and don't say much, Peter drinks coffee like he drinks liquor and he feels like he should be concerned.  It's only once they've finished and he's setting the dishes in the sink that he speals. "Let's go downstairs, I have an idea," Peter perks up and follows.

Their glasses are still on one of the tables. He grabs one of them and takes a drink, then returns it back where it was. "Give me your earpiece," he directs, Peter obliges, taking it out of his ear and giving it a quick wipe before handing it over. He pulls another one from a drawer nearby and hooks them both up to the computer.

"What are you working on?" He asks, taking a seat in the stool next to him.

"We should be able to talk through these while you're off at school," he says, smiling a little bit. Peter is pulling out his phone.

"What about messaging too?" He asks, excited.

"You work on that, I'll do this?" He offers, "make sure its encrypted, untraceable." Then he pulls out his own phone and hands it over. Peter spends a brief second to just look at the phone in his hands before setting them both down. "There should be another computer over there,"

Peter goes to grab the laptop and resumes his spot. If they can't figure it out; if they can't make it work, he doesn't know what to do. He's starting to think he needs this, he's already counting down the days until Peter leaves and he has to resume this isolation. If they wanted him to live a miserable life, it was working. Pride be damned, he needed a way to _communicate_ with someone else. He wasn't so sure he would survive another year alone, but who is he kidding? He knows he's already hit his limit, he's stretched so thin already. And as he pauses to look at Peter as he bypasses phone security systems he knows the answer. This is his last shot, his last chance, his last attempt was the message to Peter that he apparently did find, this is one more try. He fights the urge to wrap an arm around him again, he's touched him too many times already. He's starved of contact and knows that, he just isn't sure how much Peter quite understands. He was put out here and left alone, strict orders to never contact the outside world. No online presence, no communication, nothing that would risk him being found. Fortunately Tony was better at encryption than they were.

He watched this kid grow into a young man, watched him get that same faraway look to his eyes he knew too well. He watched his decline into compliance and it broke his heart. No one but Peter got his messages, no one else cared. He reaches around Peter for the glass from the day before and drains it in one go, then grabs the one Peter left behind too. Then he realizes this isn't going to be enough, so he grabs Peter's empty mug and the empty glasses and heads upstairs, muttering something about being back soon.

Even when he's been dying for human contact and connection he still withdraws. It's barely noon and he's drinking already. He fills Peter's mug first, preparing it how he liked it, then grabbing the bottle and leaving the dirty dishes in the sink alongside the others. He's just playing it careful, he has to remember that there's someone else here who has thoughts and feelings too and Tony can't just take what he needs from him. Even if he wants to. He can't rely too heavily on someone who could never stay but he knows he will. He knows he's digging his own grave, now. As he stands with his hands planted on the edges of the sink, feeling sick, he _knows_ he isn't going to last another year. No matter what happens here, he isn't going to last. His vision blurs and his jaw aches, he's going to enjoy being close to someone while he still can. Surely he can allow himself one last bit of selfishness? Even if it fucks Peter over in the end, he can make it look like an accident. At least if it's an accident then Peter can't blame himself. 

It takes him a little too long to work up the nerve and regain his composure so he can go back downstairs, even if he knows that Peter's been lonely too it doesn't change anything. The boy is focused on his work, he doesn't look up until Tony sets the drink next to him. Then he looks up and smiles, he attempts to ruffle his hair then pull away but it ends up becoming more of a caress than anything. Pure affection. It's dangerous and addicting, he's spent too long alone. So he withdraws. Or tries to, anyway, if only for Peter's sake. 

An hour or so later he thinks he has the earpieces connected, they'll have to test it out before declaring it done. Peter has hooked his phone to the same network Tony's is and it sending test messages of random characters between them. They'll have to test that, too. They could go into town, or one of them could go into town, and they could see if it works from there. It's at least some distance away, it might be enough. If this doesn't work? 

Well, it'll work. He's Tony fucking Stark. It has to work, even if it doesn't it won't matter. 

While Peter is still tinkering with the phones he places the earpiece back into his ear, then reaches over and settles Peter's close to his ear. The man reaches his hand to his head and clasps Tony's hand, brief, then helps navigate the device in place.

"I'll be back," he says, then trudges up the stairs. He steps just outside the front door.

"C _an you hear me?_ " Peter asks, Tony's momentarily overcome by the reality that he might be able to talk to someone and clears his throat before he can speak.

"Loud and clear."

" _This is awesome, Mr. Stark,_ " he says, excited.

"Yeah, looks like we're in business" a pause. Then, "and it's Tony."

" _Right, yeah, Tony,_ " he tries not to swallow his tongue. He's only having this reaction because he's been alone so long, it's natural that he would get borderline turned on at the sound of someone saying his name. He just has to calm down a little bit and get used to having someone around, and remind himself again and again that he would react like this to anyone. He wanders back inside, still a bit sideways, he's left the bottle downstairs but there's another one up here he takes a drink from.

Tony goes to bed first that night. He's tired, he's usually tired but it actually feels like he might sleep. He lays down in bed and watches the sliver of moonlight.

He wakes to the sound of the front door opening, his heart hammers in his chest. Is Peter leaving? Without even a goodbye? There's no way he would just leave, right? Panic swells in his throat as he tries to listen for the sound of a car starting over the rush of his heartbeat in his ears. Then the front door opens again and creaks closed. Within a minute Peter slips into the room with him and sets a bag down. He feigns sleep as Peter undresses. It's only when the younger man climbs into bed next to him that he realizes his enhanced senses can probably tell that Tony's awake. It doesn't seem to bother him though as he settles in beside him. He tries to calm down, Peter isn't leaving. He wouldn't leave like that.

He dreams Peter is wrapped up in his arms, he dreams he trails his lips up the side of his throat, then his arms fold in as he turns to dust. He can taste it, he can feel it all over again, he wakes up and sits up in a panic. Peter is asleep, he's whole, he reaches out a hand to touch his arm, he's solid and warm and real. Alive. He exhales, lays down and gives in entirely, slinging one arm around him and tucking him close. He can't disappear again, not if Tony's here. He will leave soon enough but for now, he's _here_. Peter's hand closes around his and he exhales again, they're safe. He's alive. He doesn't dream anymore but he doesn't really sleep either. So he does notice when Peter decides to roll over to face him, snuggling up close. It aches, he needs to untangle himself and leave him here.

It's not Peter, he tells himself. He's trying hard to picture him as a kid again, as someone far too young to be caught up in end-of-the-world events. Back then he had been protective, he wanted him to be safe. Watched him, protected him, cared about him like a son. Underage and honestly the thought had never even crossed his mind. The years had changed him into something lonely and unrecognizable. 

But Peter is in his arms right now and he's a weak man, he's suffering under the weight and guilt and honestly genuinely wishing he could just be done now instead of holding out until Peter leaves. This was no way to live. This is all he's ever wanted but it still doesn't ease the agony, Tony is too far gone, he's fallen as far as it's possible to fall and can't even make out the daylight he fell from. Maybe Peter will understand, maybe he won't, maybe it won't matter. He leaves Peter behind in bed and tries to resist the urge to drink himself to sleep. He turns on the television and watches it on mute until he falls asleep out there. 


End file.
